BRITISH ASSOCIATION
Its function and merits—My connection with and indebtedness to
it—Sir William Grove
I have been connected with the British Association more or less
intimately during many years, four times as President of a Section or
“Department,” once as deliverer of a Lecture, a member of its Council
almost from my return from South Africa, then from 1863 to 1867 as its
General Secretary, and afterwards as an official member of its Council.
The Association affords what is often the most appropriate means of
ventilating new ideas. It can create a Committee with or without a
grant of money, giving to its proposer the title either of Chairman
or Secretary, which clothes him with an authority that an unknown
individual would lack, when making inquiries of public bodies at home or
abroad. It also provides him with colleagues to discuss and criticise
results before they are finally published. A good example of these
advantages may be found in the Report of the Anthropometric Committee,
which has afforded standard data up to the present time, for the chief
physical characteristics of the inhabitants of the British Isles. The
hard work carried on in its name was mainly performed by Mr. Roberts,
its Secretary, who wrote a book afterwards in which his results were
included. He was greatly helped by Sir Rawson Rawson, who was a member
of the Committee. The rest of the Committee did little more than discuss
subjects and methods, but even that little was helpful. I was its
Chairman, but claim no more than an insignificant share in its success.
Again, many years later, in 1888-1889, I was desirous that a proposal
of mine should be seriously considered, of awarding marks for physical
efficiency in competitive literary examinations. I read my memoir, the
Association took it up, and the results of some experiments at Eton and
many valuable communications were received in reply, including a careful
minute from a high authority of the War Office. These convinced me that
although the proposal had strong _a priori_ claims to consideration, it
did not merit acceptance; so it was dropped.
Many other examples of a similar kind could be quoted, some failing,
most succeeding. The British Association in its early days was of still
greater value than it is now. At that time locomotion was tedious,
and the numerous scientific societies of the present day that issue
frequent publications had not come into existence. Local men of science
who had been socially overlooked were brought forward to their rightful
position by its means. It has frequently happened that an improvement in
a town was furthered or even initiated through a visit of the British
Association. The papers read there and discussions upon them are not the
most important part of its work. The Reports of the Committees appointed
by it are as a rule far more valuable than ordinary memoirs, and so are
the Presidential Addresses, but perhaps the most useful function of the
British Association lies in causing persons who are occupied in different
branches of science, and who rarely meet elsewhere, to be jostled
together and to become well acquainted. Its organisation was a wonderful
feat, for it was created upon paper, and has required nothing ever since
beyond a little easing and extension here and there.
The plan of one meeting is as like that of another as two Roman camps.
On entering the reception-room, time seems to have stood still, for the
same familiar faces are seen in the same places; the placards that refer
to letters, to programmes, to excursions and to the other multifarious
business of the Association, are similarly arranged, so after the
experience of a single year a member finds himself at home on every
future occasion. But the sustained racket of it is great, and I found it
too long continued for my own nerves. I had a complete breakdown when I
was General Secretary, which compelled me to resign what otherwise was a
very pleasant post: it would have been playing with death had I continued
to hold it.
My period of office began at the time when the old order of supreme
management by a few magnates was giving way to a more democratic
government. Its earlier and distinguished members, such as Sabine and
Murchison, had naturally so much weight in Council that when they were
active and in close touch with their juniors their opinions were sure to
prevail. So the duty of a General Secretary in those days was to consult
a few of the more eminent persons at first, and again at the close,
with the almost complete assurance that whatever names were suggested
with their approval, whether as President, Presidents of Sections, or
Lecturers, would be accepted by the Council. These consultations with
many able men were very instructive. They showed the striking differences
between the points of view from which original minds may regard the same
topic. Unconventionality seems to be a marked characteristic of such
minds; I have noticed it elsewhere and very often.
Among the features of the Association meetings was the “Red Lion” Club,
in which clever buffoonery was freely indulged. It was instituted by
Edward Forbes (who was rather before my time, and whom I never had the
pleasure of knowing). The governing idea was that its members were
really lions, acquainted with one another, who had met by chance, during
their prowls, in a town where strange proceedings were in progress. The
speakers described what they had witnessed, speaking as it were from a
superior and leonine pedestal.
I have only attended two of these meetings; in one the buffoonery of
Monckton Milnes (afterwards Lord Houghton) was of a first-class order. So
also was the humorous sarcasm of Professor W. K. Clifford (1845-1879),
the mathematician, also the mimicry of Mr., afterwards Sir, W. Chandler
Roberts Austen, an accomplishment that it amazed me to find he possessed.
Subsequently, on talking about it, he made the shrewd remark that a
useful way of understanding a man’s character was to mimic his ways,
and that he frequently mimicked new acquaintances in his imagination for
that purpose. This seems to me very subtle and true. If we want to raise
in our minds a quick sympathy, say, for a friend’s tale of grief, we
instinctively screw our features into an expression of sorrow, and the
required emotion follows almost as a matter of course. It is needless to
dwell on the existence of accomplished hypocrites, who screw their faces
without the slightest desire to evoke the feeling they appear to express.
My last attempt to utilise the British Association failed owing to my
increasing age and infirmities. I wanted to methodise the preservation
of records of pedigree stock to serve as data for future inquiries,
and wrote memoirs (147, 148) on the subject, in which I showed that
photographs of animals, taken under certain simple and feasible
conditions, afforded means of calculating their measurements with
considerable exactitude, as tested by myself on horses. I took great
pains, and was given facilities for photography at one of the great horse
shows at the Agricultural Hall. The attempt was perfectly successful
in essentials, though several alterations of detail were suggested by
that experience, but the effort was far too much for my health. Most of
these exhibitions are held during the winter months, and, being now very
liable to bronchitis, I found it quite impossible to endure the draughty
passages and other discomforts during that season. I could not delegate
it to my satisfaction, so was obliged, to my great regret, to abandon all
further attempts in that direction, otherwise some useful work might have
been done.
The hospitality afforded during the visits of the British Association
is always great, but I fear often onerous and unwelcome to the hosts,
however carefully their courtesy may conceal such feelings. I have
to be grateful for many apparently cordial receptions of this kind.
One of the simplest and yet most effective was given at Birmingham by
Charles Evans, afterwards Canon of Worcester, but then Headmaster of
King Edward’s School, where we had been schoolfellows. The building had
abundant accommodation, and he got together a very distinguished party.
The food provided was plain, but well cooked and plenty of it. A large
luncheon table with cold meat was at the disposal of any of the guests
who wished to bring friends with him. There was no display, but abundance
everywhere, and perfect freedom. Few, except masters of large public
schools, could have arranged and carried out such a programme as well and
easily as he did.
I have been asked twice to act as President of the Association. On
the first occasion my name was formally proposed by the officers of
the Association to the Council at which I was then sitting, but I was
conscious of my limitations in respect to health, and with many thanks
declined, even though some pressure was kindly put on me. On the second
occasion, and much more lately, I was actually nominated in my absence,
with the offer of most thoughtful arrangements to diminish fatigue, but I
had again to decline still more emphatically than before, as my powers of
work and endurance had in the meantime become smaller and my deafness had
increased.
It is an office that affords an excellent stage from which to address
the public, because the Presidential Address is usually printed more or
less in full, and commented on in the leading newspapers, while long
extracts from it are given in all of them. It is also an office that
carries considerable responsibilities, and one where very useful work
may be done by its holder. It requires, however, a more genial speaker
at ceremonial meetings than myself, where I simply hate having to come
forward. My infirmities have prevented me from attending any of the
meetings of the British Association for many past years.
The Addresses of the Presidents of the Association differ much, as
might be expected, in interest and importance. One that gained unusual
attention, owing to its simplicity and sterling value, was that of Sir
William Grove, of whom I will take this occasion to speak.
The late Justice Sir William Grove (1811-1896) is one of those to whom I
owe most for sympathy in my inquiries, for helpful criticisms, and for
long-continued friendship. His early work as chemist and electrician,
his masterly book on the “Correlation of Physical Forces,” when the idea
was novel that heat, electricity, force, etc., were convertible into
one another, and his resolute and successful labours to raise the worth
of the Royal Society, promoted him easily into the very first rank of
scientific men. At a subsequent time, when he was seriously considering
whether or no he should abandon the legal profession, he was unexpectedly
promoted to a judgeship, the object of the appointment being to secure
a judge capable of dealing with the technicalities of Patent cases. The
result, as he told me, and as I have heard elsewhere, was that not a
single Patent case was brought into his Court. Presumably he was dreaded
by both sides on account of his searching questions.
It was his practice to rent a large house and shooting during the autumn
vacation, and he most hospitably asked my wife and myself to make long
visits to him during three autumns. On the first of these an incident
occurred which might have ended, but which confirmed, his friendship;
namely, the sudden and most severe illness of my wife. The prompt and
continuous care shown to her by every member of the family at that time
in the house, called for my warmest gratitude. Sir William’s second son,
who was then a young man, but now a highly distinguished officer, rode
several miles to the nearest town, summoned the doctor, and brought back
a bag of ice on horseback. Sir William’s daughter, Mrs. Hills, nursed
her with every possible care for some weeks, until she was sufficiently
convalescent to bear removal. Recovery at length ensued, but serious
weakness remained, which continued up to her death, nearly forty years
later.
One of Sir William Grove’s achievements was that of being the main agent,
in 1847, of changing the character of the governing body of the Royal
Society. It had become too aristocratic, dating from the long presidency
of Sir Joseph Banks, and its elections were guided by favour. The
struggle between two opposed principles became one between the supporters
of different candidates. It was a near contest, but the reform party
gained the day. They signalised the memory of their triumph by founding
the “Philosophical Club” for the use of the reformers, in distinction to
the older Royal Society Club. Both were merely dining clubs that met on
the evenings of Royal Society meetings, and they were held on alternate
weeks. I, like many others, was a member of both. The members of the
Philosophical Club were limited in number to forty-seven, as a reminder
of the date of its foundation. This controversy is now quite obsolete,
and the two clubs have become amalgamated.
Another very important reform that Sir William Grove carried through
on this occasion, was to limit the number of elections to the Royal
Society to fifteen in each year, it having been found that fifteen annual
elections corresponded to the losses by death; so the average number of
Fellows would thereby remain unchanged. It was the firm opinion of Sir
William Grove, which I fully share, that the only feasible way of keeping
a standard of qualification from being lowered is to limit the number of
selected candidates, for it is scarcely possible to define a standard in
words. The question has lately been raised whether fifteen is not too
small a number now. On that point I have no up-to-date knowledge that
would justify an opinion, but when I served on the Council of the Royal
Society many years ago, and the number of candidates averaged little more
than fifty, it happened that about twelve out of the fifteen were elected
at the first ballot, but there was often considerable delay in fixing
upon the remainder. So it seemed that fifteen was a somewhat high number
then, but this year there were as many as a hundred candidates. Certainly
no one has been elected since 1847 to the Fellowship of the Royal
Society who has not done a large amount of sound work, and the credit of
the Society has been continuously maintained at a high level.
Many persons imagine in their innocence that when any one appends letters
to his name testifying to his being a Fellow of one or more learned
societies that he is necessarily a scientific expert. This is true for
hardly any other society than the Royal. In all others the letters show
little more than that the person who uses them is sufficiently interested
in the sciences in question to make it worth his while to pay an annual
subscription. I have served on the Councils of many of these societies,
and can only recall two cases in which a proposed candidate was _not_
elected. In the one, the man had been imprisoned for a grave offence; in
the other, he was a wastrel well known to avoid paying his debts.
Many pleasant days have been spent by me under the hospitable roof of
Mr. and Mrs. Hills. She was, as already mentioned, a daughter of Sir
William Grove, and has been one of my closest friends ever since the
terrible illness of my wife mentioned above. Her husband, Judge Hills,
died very recently. He was a judge in Alexandria, where he resided during
the larger part of the year, but returned every autumn to exercise
hospitality in England.
The conversational powers of Sir William Grove were remarkable when
he was sufficiently excited to show them to advantage. One evening,
before going to a distant meeting of the British Association, he,
Professor Huxley, and myself, dined together at the same table at the
Athenæum. Never, before or since, have I heard such rapid and continuous
conversational sword-play. The sudden thrusts, the quick parries and
counter-thrusts, were extraordinarily dexterous. I regret my inability
to recall more than this general impression, without any of the actual
sentences.